"Why, your father has let it to a man by the name of Didenhover, and I am afraid he is not faithful; it does not seem to bring us in what it ought.

"What did he do that for?"

"He was wearied with the annoyances he had to endure before, and thought it would be better and more profitable to have somebody else take the whole charge and management. He did not know Didenhover's character at the time."

Engaged him without knowing him !"

Fleda was the only third party present, and Charlton unwittingly allowing himself to meet her eye received a look of keen displeasure that he was not prepared for.

"That is not like him," he said in a much moderated tone. "But you must be changed too, mother, or you would not endure such anomalous service in your kitchen.'

"There are a great many changes, dear Charlton,” said his mother, looking at him with such a face of sorrowful sweetness and patience that his mouth was stopped. Fleda left the room.

"And have you really nothing to depend upon but that child's strawberries and Hugh's wood-saw?" he said in the tone he ought to have used from the beginning.

"Little else."

Charlton stifled two or three sentences that rose to his lips, and began to walk up and down the room again. His mother sat musing by the tea-board still, softly clinking her spoon against the edge of her tea-cup.

"She has grown up very pretty," he remarked after a pause.

Pretty!" said Mrs. Rossitur. "Why?"

"No one that has seen much of Fleda would ever describe her by that name.”

Charlton had the candour to think he had seen something of her that morning.

"Poor child!" said Mrs. Rossitur sadly,-"I can't bear to think of her spending her life as she is doing-wearing herself out, I know, sometimes-and buried alive."

"Buried!" said Charlton in his turn.

"Yes-without any of the advantages and opportunities

she ought to have. I can't bear to think of it. And yet how should I ever live without her!"—said Mrs. Rossitur, leaning her face upon her hands. "And if she were known she would not be mine long. But it grieves me to have her go without her music, that she is so fond of, and the books she wants-she and Hugh have gone from end to end of every volume there is in the house, I believe, in every language, except Greek.”

"Well she looks pretty happy and contented, mother." "I don't know!" said Mrs. Rossitur shaking her head. "Isn't she happy?"

'

"I don't know," said Mrs. Rossitur again ;"she has & spirit that is happy in doing her duty, or anything for those she loves; but I see her sometimes wearing a look that pains me exceedingly. I am afraid the way she lives and the changes in our affairs have worn upon her more than we know of-she feels doubly everything that touches me, or Hugh, or your father. She is a gentle spirit !—-”

"She seems to me not to want character," said Charlton. "Character! I don't know who has so much. She has at least fifty times as much character as I have. And energy. She is admirable at managing people--she knows how to influence them somehow so that everybody does what she wants."

"And who influences her?" said Charlton.

"Who influences her? Everybody that she loves. Who has the most influence over her, do you mean?—I am sure I don't know-Hugh, if anybody, but she is rather the moving spirit of the household."

Capt. Rossitur resolved that he would be an exception to her rule.

He forgot however, for some reason or other, to sound his father any more on the subject of mismanagement. His thoughts indeed were more pleasantly taken up.

CHAPTER XXIV.

My lord Sebastian,

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
When you should bring the plaster.

TEMPEST.

THE

THE Evelyns spent several weeks at the Pool; and both mother and daughters conceiving a great affection for Fleda kept her in their company as much as possible. For those weeks Fleda had enough of gayety. She was constantly spending the day with them at the Pool, or going on some party of pleasure, or taking quiet sensible walks and rides with them alone or with only one or two more of the most rational and agreeable people that the place could command. And even Mrs. Rossitur was persuaded, more times than one, to put herself in her plainest remaining French silk and entertain the whole party, with the addition of one or two of Charlton's friends, at her Queechy farm-house.

Fleda enjoyed it all with the quick spring of a mind habitually bent to the patient fulfilment of duty and habitually under the pressure of rather sobering thoughts. It was a needed and very useful refreshment. Charlton's being at home gave her the full good of the opportunity more than would else have been possible. He was her constant attendant, driving her to and from the Pool, and finding as much to call him there as she had; for besides the Evelyns his friend Thorn abode there all this time. The only drawback to Fleda's pleasure as she drove off from Queechy would be the leaving Hugh plodding away at his saw-mill. She used to nod and wave to him as they went by, and almost feel that she ought not to go on and

enjoy herself while he was tending that wearisome machinery all day long. Still she went on and enjoyed herself; but the mere thought of his patient smile as she passed would have kept her from too much elation of spirits, if there had been any danger. There never was any.

"That's a lovely little cousin of yours," said Thorn one evening, when he and Rossitur, on horseback, were leisurely making their way along the up and down road between Montepoole and Queechy.

"She is not particularly little," said Rossitur with a dryness that somehow lacked any savour of gratification.

"She is of a most fair stature," said Thorn ;-“I did not mean anything against that,-but there are characters to which one gives instinctively a softening appellative." "Are there ?" said Charlton.

"Yes. She is a lovely little creature.”

"She is not to compare to one of those girls we have left behind us at Montepoole," said Charlton.

"Hum-well perhaps you are right; but which girl do you mean?—for I profess I don't know."

"The second of Mrs. Evelyn's daughters-the auburnhaired one.

"Miss Constance, eh?" said Thorn. other one to be compared to her ?”

"In what isn't the

"In anything! Nobody would ever think of looking at her in the same room ?"

66

Why not?" said Thorn coolly.

I don't know why not," said Charlton, “except that she has not a tithe of her beauty. That's a superb girl !"

For a matter of twenty yards Mr. Thorn went softly humming a tune to himself and leisurely switching the flies off his horse.

“Well ”—said he,--"there's no accounting for tastes

'I ask no red and white

To make up my delight,

No odd becoming graces,

Black eyes, or little know-not-what in faces.""

"What do you want then?" said Charlton, half laughing at him, though his friend was perfectly grave.

“A cool eye, and a mind in it.”

"A cool eye!" said Rossitur.

"Yes. Those we have left behind us are arrant willo'the-wisps-dancing fires-no more."

"I can tell you there is fire sometimes in the other eyes," said Charlton.

Very likely," said his friend composedly,-"I could have guessed as much; but that is a fire you may warm yourself at; no eternal phosphorescence;-it is the leaping up of an internal fire, that only shews itself upon occasion."

"I suppose you know what you are talking about," said Charlton, "but I can't follow you into the region of volcanos. Constance Evelyn has superb eyes. It is uncommon to see a light blue so brilliant.'

66

"I would rather trust a sick head to the handling of the lovely lady than the superb one, at a venture.'

"I thought you never had a sick head," said Charlton. "That is lucky for me, as the hands do not happen to be at my service. But no imagination could put Miss Constance in Desdemona's place, when Othello complained of his headache,—you remember, Charlton,—

"Faith, that's with watching-'twill away again-
Let me but bind this handkerchief about it hard.'”

Thorn gave the intonation truly and admirably.
“Fleda never said anything so soft as that," said Charl-

ton.

"No ?""

“No.”

"You speak-well, but soft!-do you know what you are talking about there ?"

"Not very well," said Charlton. "I only remember there was nothing soft about Othello,-what you quoted of his wife just now seemed to me to smack of that quality."

"I forgive your memory," said Thorn, "or else I certainly would not forgive you. If there is a fair creation in all Shakspeare it is Desdemona; and if there is a pretty combination on earth that nearly matches it, I believe it is that one.”

"What one?"

"Your pretty cousin.” Charlton was silent.